


The Bet

by Lecavayay, verbaeghe



Series: Unexpected [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Beards as a metaphor for heartbreak, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Tampa Bay Lightning, Yes you read the pairing right, stupid bets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:05:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21765013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecavayay/pseuds/Lecavayay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaeghe/pseuds/verbaeghe
Summary: Misha snorts. “Please, I can get anyone I want into bed.”“No, you can’t,” Kuch says before he and Vasya laugh together over his further objections. “You’re so full of shit.”“I am not! Name the guy and I’ll bed him.”“Yeah?” Kuch raises his eyebrows.“Yeah,” Misha shoots back, crossing his arms in defiance. “Anyone.”
Relationships: Braydon Coburn/Mikhail Sergachev, Past Braydon Coburn/Slater Koekkoek
Series: Unexpected [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567846
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77





	The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> We know whose idea you probably think this is. And you're wrong.

**1\. The Bet**

Misha’s sitting on Kuch’s couch, bored out of his mind. They’ve been playing video games for eight hours, give or take, and he really needs something new to do. He hits pause.

“What the hell?” Kuch hisses. “I was just about to score.”

“No you weren’t. I was going to hit it off your stick,” Misha replies, scratching his stomach idly.

“No, I was--”

Misha hits the button again and knocks the puck off Animated Kuch’s stick. “There.”

“Man, what the--”

“Didn’t you already say that?” Vasya interrupts from Misha’s other side. “Let’s move on.” He grins. “We can talk about how Misha can’t score in real life.”

“What? I have, like four goals.”

“Not that kind of scoring.” Vasya rolls his eyes.

“I think I like this better than video games,” Kuch adds.

Misha snorts. “Please, I can get anyone I want into bed.”

“No, you can’t,” Kuch says before he and Vasya laugh together over his further objections. “You’re so full of shit.”

“I am not! Name the guy and I’ll bed him.”

“Yeah?” Kuch raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Misha shoots back, crossing his arms in defiance. “Anyone.”

“Alright, Bet you can’t fuck Coby.”

“Coby?” Misha screws his face up in distaste. “First of all, he’s been a happiness-sucking moping moper who mopes since Koeks was traded away. Second, he isn’t even remotely my type. Third of all, have you seen that beard of his? It’s super gross.”

“It isn’t supposed to be someone your type. You said _anyone_,” Vasya points out.

“You know what, you’re right. I did. I accept your bet.” Misha waves his objections away. “How much are we talking?”

“Didn’t think about it.” Kuch shrugs. “Hundred?”

“No,” Misha shakes his head. “It has to be more than that if I’m going to have to deal with moping and touch that scratchy ass beard.”

“Five hundred?” Kuch absently rubs at his own beard. It looks super scratchy too. Misha shudders at the thought of what he’s gotten himself into.

But he _is_ glad he doesn’t have to touch Kuch’s.

“Five hundred sounds fair.,” Misha agrees. “That I can get Coby to fuck me.”

“Deal.”

“Get ready to pay up,” Misha says, wanting to have the last word.

“I doubt it,” Kuch answers. Misha frowns while Vasya laughs again.

**2\. Mission Flirt is a Go**

Braydon wasn’t expecting anything special at practice today. There was no reason to. It’s just a normal day, early in the season with nothing pressing to work on yet.

But Sergy’s acting, um. Strange is the only word he can really use for it. He’s being extra attentive between drills, always hovering a foot or less away. He’s all handsy and smiley, too. Touching Braydon almost constantly.

It’s a little unnerving.

“What’s up with you today?” Braydon asks him after cooldown stretching.

“Will you work on that puck-handling drill with me?”

“That isn’t an answer,” Braydon replies.

“What’s to reply to, Coby?” Sergy flashes a million watt smile that Braydon doesn't trust for a minute. He must want something.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” Braydon shakes his head and gets to lining up pucks. “Try and repeat my what I do, okay?”

“Yeah,” Sergy says, not totally paying attention.

Well, fine. Braydon won’t start easy for him. He runs an elaborate pattern, weaving his puck in and out of the line of five with ease. “Got that?” He glances up at Sergy and just manages to stop himself from laughing at the slack-jawed look on his face.

“Um,” he coughs out, stepping into Braydon’s place. He does manage to recreate it, at a much slower pace.

“That was pretty good!” Braydon says, wanting to encourage him. Knowing he could have used some at this age when he was in Atlanta.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sergy answers, frowning at the pucks. The mood is gone the next second when he grins up at Braydon and asks, “Hey, can we grab lunch after this?”

“Uh, yeah?” Braydon feels like a dumbass, shakes it off. He smiles at Sergy. “Yeah, of course.”

“Great, I know a place.”

Braydon feels like he’s walking into a trap.

“I’m bored.”

Braydon pauses, his sandwich halfway to his mouth. He sits up a bit, drops his food back to his plate. “Am I not..? Do you not like being here with me? Did you want to invite someone else, or…?” Braydon trails off, unsure what else to say.

“No, not with you. I’m talking in general. Sitting at home alone and stuff is boring, I mean. I want someone who isn’t married with a kid to hang out with.”

Oh. “I can...help with that?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you can.” Sergy smiles all super bright again. Braydon thinks he’s laying it on a little thick. “You should call me Misha.”

“Misha,” he echoes softly, trying it out. He thinks that Misha’s eyes might widen a bit, and he seems to sit up a little straighter.

Braydon might be imagining it, though. “Do you want to come back to my place? Watch a movie?”

“Yeah, I would.” His smile seems more genuine now, but Braydon is still sort of wary.

Misha's running commentary during the movie should be annoying, but it's sort of endearing. His voice is nice, Braydon likes hearing it. And they’ve both seen the movie before. It’s fine. He doesn't notice how he's relaxing through the afternoon, sinking deeper and deeper into the couch until the sun starts to set and he realizes they’re quite close together. Braydon’s arm is stretched out along the back of it, almost around Misha’s shoulders.

It’s nothing. Casual. Just friends hanging out.

No big deal.

“Hey, wanna order something for dinner?” Misha asks. Braydon swears he’s drifting closer.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” Braydon replies.

“Great! I’ll pay,” Misha says, reaching for his wallet.

**3\. #winning**

Misha starts inviting himself over all the time.

It’s easy to hang around until Coby’s done with all of his stretching and cooling down, his weekly massages and body maintenance. Easy to just follow him out of the arena this fine Saturday and ask if he’s going to watch the football game this afternoon.

“I was, yeah,” he says when they both arrive at his car.

“No fun watching by yourself.”

Coby makes him wait, sweat it out a little bit. “Did you want to come over?”

“I’d love to!” He beams and slides into the passenger seat.

He gets used to Coby’s house quickly, knowing his way around and what doors lead where. He has a favorite deck chair and likes to sun himself there while Coby reads some boring book.

Sometimes Coby cooks them both lunch and holds out a bite for Misha to take. “I made the dressing myself,” he says as Misha chews the bite of salad.

“It’s good.”

“You don’t have to patronize me,” Coby says on a little snort.

“I’m not! It is; tangy, but also a little sweet.” Misha uses his own fork to take another bite. “There’s a bit of heat, the perfect amount. It’s good.”

“Okay.” Coby’s still pretty hesitant so Misha decides to change the subject.

“What do you spend your time doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you don’t have anyone, and--” Coby winces. Dammit. He’s such an idiot. He is never going to get Coby into bed like this. “Sorry, I mean, I’m sort of lonely and I don’t know how to pass the time.”

“Aren’t we passing the time right now?” Coby asks.

“Yeah, but I can’t always be with you.” Misha throws down some come-hither blinking. “Can I?”

Coby swallows. “I’m a pretty decent cook, so you get that, I guess.” He spears a mushroom and holds it out to Misha. “And I’m a fun guy.” He laughs as Misha accepts the bite.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m a fun guy. You know, fungi?” He picks up another mushroom and makes it do a little dance. It’s actually sort of charming and Misha doesn’t know what to do with _that_.

“What is that amazing smell?” Misha asks a couple of days later when Coby lets him in.

“You said that you were missing home, and I was inspired by the mushrooms the other day.” Coby pulls the lid off of the pot on the stove. “Ta da!”

Something that looks suspiciously like his grandma’s mushroom soup is simmering inside.

"You have to try it." He grabs a nearby wooden spoon. “Make sure I got the right recipe.”

Misha holds eye contact as he fits his lips around the spoon. That is, until the flavors of the soup get to him and his eyes drop closed. A little happy moan escapes him. He hears Coby’s breath catch, and that will do.

“Jesus, Coby, this is so--”

“Maybe you should go.”

“What?” Misha blinks in surprise.

“I can put this in something to go.” He drops the spoon, starts rooting around in his cabinets.

“Why?” Misha asks, panicking. This is the opposite of what he needs to happen here. He didn’t even get to use his popsicle bit that he’s been planning for _weeks_. He pouts, says, “We’re supposed to watch the game.”

“Yeah, but I think that maybe I should--”

“But you _promised_. And the soup.” He sags, throws his bottom lip out as far as it will go. “Please don’t send me home. I don’t want to be alone when I’m supposed to be here with you.”

He means it as an act so he’s surprised by how true the words feel.

Coby sighs. “Okay, yeah.” The cabinet doors rattle closed. “I’ll get the bread in the oven.”

“There’s bread?” Misha perks up.

Coby shakes his head, chuckles.

Later, when the soup and bread are both demolished and the game is in the fourth quarter, Misha offers Coby a soft smile. “You didn’t have to do any of this, so thanks for everything, Coby.”

He returns Misha’s smile, makes a little aborted movement. “Call me Braydon.”

Misha relaxes. “Braydon.”

They turn back to the game.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep on Braydon’s shoulder, but damn if it isn’t comfortable here.

Misha wakes up in the morning with a soft blanket tucked delicately around him. He sits up, stretching and looking around. Everything is still quiet, so he just folds the blanket and makes sure the door is locked behind him when he slips through it.

He has to feed his cat before practice.

**4\. Oh, shit **

Somewhere along the line here Braydon’s picked up feelings for Misha, and he’s not a fan. Doesn’t like that he wants something more with another too-young pair partner.

Another pair partner who he shouldn’t even be looking at. He convinced himself that Slater was okay, that the age difference didn’t matter because he was the One.

But Braydon had been wrong. Slater told him that there wasn’t a way to make it work with them so far apart, in different conferences, that waiting until Braydon retired wasn’t enough, that they had different paths now.

So he’d smiled and agreed with Slater. Yeah, of course they couldn’t make it work, never seeing one another didn’t make for a good relationship, right? Slater’d called him darlin’ and kissed him one last time. And that’d been it.

Braydon was left alone with the decision that he was done with relationships. He grew his beard and went about his life, alone.

And now he has stupid feelings trying to take hold of his heart over another guy who is _too young_ for him. And he’s pretty sure that Misha doesn’t want that either. He’s just lonely and wants a friend.

Yeah, Misha flirts with him, but that’s just how he is. He flirts with McElhinney sometimes, for fucks sake.

Braydon tries not to flirt back, to stop himself from encouraging the little embers in his heart that want to flair up. But he’s failing. So hard.

He looks across this ice, to where Misha is talking with Kuch and Vasy. He throws his head back and laughs at something and Braydon just wants to put his mouth on the base of that neck and--

No. He has to stop this.

Misha skates over and smiles at him. “Care to help me with my shot?”

“What’s in it for me?” Braydon asks, even though he’s already gathering pucks up.

“My undying devotion.” Misha bats his eyelashes a couple of times.

“Yeah, is that a promise?” he asks, getting right up in Misha’s space. Probably too close, but he can allow himself this one little thing, right?

Misha beams up at him and the embers glow a little brighter. So what if he loves the way Misha’s face lights up; he can control these feelings.

No one will ever know but him.

He can feel like he's getting away with something until Misha moves on to bigger and better things.

They’re sitting on his couch, watching some stupid action hero movie when Misha pushes close to him, places a hand on his thigh.

Braydon pauses the movie, turns to him. “What is this?”

“What do you want it to be?” Misha asks, has the gall to look at him from under his eyelashes.

“Please stop with the flirting that I’m not sure if it’s on purpose or if you’re just like thi--”

Misha looks at him for a couple heartbeats before he leans in and kisses him. Just a soft press of lips. Braydon doesn’t know what to do. He wants to pull away, knows that might be the right thing to do. But he also has the urge to push Misha down onto his back and kiss him fully.

He doesn’t though. He lets Misha pull away.

“Does that answer your question?” Misha asks, breath heaving.

He traces Misha’s bottom lip with his thumb and his clever tongue comes out to lick at it. Quick, like a tease. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Are you going to do anything about it?”

Braydon’s hand holds Misha’s jaw, thumb reaching up to brush along his cheekbone. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” Misha sighs. It’s barely a word at all the way he exhales it.

Braydon chases his breath, leaning back into his space and fitting his mouth to Misha’s. He feels Misha’s gasp, slips his tongue between Misha’s lips. Hands scrabble at Braydon’s collar to hold him still, fingers slipping under the fabric to brush over his skin and Braydon grabs Misha’s wrists.

“We shouldn’t...we’re not…”

“Whatever,” Misha says, leaning up on his knees to get some height on Braydon. He tilts his chin up to take another kiss and he settles his knees on either side of Braydon’s hips. “Lemme touch you.”

Misha drags his hands down Braydon’s neck, tipped back to show the whole column of it. He traces the shape of his shoulders and presses his fingers into the muscle when Braydon bites his bottom lip.

“God, you’re hot.”

Braydon thinks Misha might be lying. Or blind. He brushes his hands along Misha’s waist, up under his t-shirt to hold him still.

Misha fits his own to Braydon’s chest. “Take this off.”

Braydon closes his eyes to try and get his desire under control. He shouldn’t. They shouldn’t. He squeezes Misha’s waist and caves at the little groan that slips from Misha’s throat. “Yeah, okay.”

The shirt is tossed unceremoniously over the back of the couch and Misha dips his head to lave kisses over the new skin.

It all feels so dangerous: Braydon threading his fingers through Misha’s hair to hold him against him as he bites a mark below his collarbone. His other hand slips down Misha’s spine to the small of his back. _Dangerous_.

Misha rocks his hips and Braydon tenses, teetering on the edge of _want_. He pulls Misha back to his lips, stealing back some control. He has to keep control of this. It’d be too easy to slip his fingers below the waist of Misha’s jeans, to find him some rhythm that feels good for them both.

Misha gasps, pulling away. “Fuck, you’re good at this.”

Braydon doesn’t need the praise or the...the _sucking up _to. He just needs...he _needs_. He wraps his hand around the back of Misha’s neck again, kisses him with tongue and teeth and --

Misha pulls back, slips off Braydon’s lap altogether. “I should go.”

“_What.”_

“Leave,” he says, making his hair even messier with his fingers. “I should leave.”

Braydon takes a deep breath. Misha’s right. He should leave. “Okay.”

“I need to feed my cat. And like, you know, do laundry. And pack. We’re going on a road trip soon.”

“That’s in a week.”

“It’s a long trip.”

“Okay.”

Misha nods, drags his hands through his hair again. And again. “Okay.”

Braydon should get off the couch and follow him out, walk him to the door like a good host and send him on his way. Tell him to text him when he gets home safe.

He does one of those things. He follows Misha to the door and stops him from opening it. He presses him up against the wall and kisses him again.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, pulling away.

But Misha doesn’t let him go too far, pulls him down to press their foreheads together. To just breathe.

And then he finds the doorknob and slips away before Braydon can protest again.

He scrubs his face in frustration as the door clicks shut.

Fuck.

**5\. Oh No**

Misha didn’t think this through. And yeah, that’s just sort of who he is as a person, but this time it has him in trouble.

In _feelings_ trouble.

Braydon is nice and he’s gorgeous. He kisses like he was born to do only that, and all that stopped Misha just now was knowing that he deserves better than Misha...using him.

He pulls out his phone and dials Kuch.

“_This better be important, because I--_”

“Can we call the bet off?” Misha doesn’t feel like listening to Kuch rattle on about whatever.

“_What? Are you going to lose? No, you should just pay up._”

“No!” Misha shoots back, indignant. “I’m not going to lose, I just don’t think that we should--”

“_Pay up or win, that’s the only choices here._”

“Fine, whatever,” Misha says before he hangs up.

He decides, as he starts his car, that he just won’t bring it up again in the hope that Kuch forgets in the grind of the season.

“Hey, can I come over?” Misha asks when Braydon picks up his phone.

“_I, uh, I have a thing I have to do today._”

“Oh, what’s that?” Misha’s voice is light because he is _not_ jealous that Braydon is doing something on his off day that he didn’t say anything about.

“_I’m doing a volunteer thing today._”

“You’re…?” Misha trails off, thinks back to the Appearances Schedule. “I don’t remember anything listed for today.”

“_No, this is something different._” A pause. “_My own thing._”

“Is it something you can't tell me about?” Misha makes sure his smile bleeds into his voice.

“_No, I’m making lunch at a women’s shelter._”

“Oh.” Misha pulls his phone away and blinks at it. Unexpected. He pulls it back in. “Can I come help, or is it a Braydon-only event?”

Braydon laughs, it’s so cute that something in Misha melts a little. “_You can come if you want. Be at my place in twenty?_”

“Sure thing,” Misha replies.

Braydon is already waiting on his porch when Misha arrives. Misha rolls down his window. “Wanna just take my car?”

“Uh, sure.” Braydon climbs in, gives him the address and they’re off.

They’re quiet for the first couple of minutes before Misha asks, “Is this something you do often?”

“Yeah, set it up not long after I got here and I do it whenever I can find free time.” Braydon chews his nail and looks out the window. “It just seemed like a way I could give something back, you know?”

“Yeah…” Misha sort of feels like an ass that he’s never given a second thought to this sort of thing.

“Are you any good at cooking?” Braydon asks. It’s an out if he’s ever seen one.

“I can warm up my prepackaged meals?” Misha grimaces. Lame. He’s so lame.

“That’s alright,” Braydon chuckles as Misha pulls into a spot. “We’ll keep you on the easy stuff.”

Misha is not any good at the easy stuff. The only thing he is supposed to do is chop up various vegetables and he can’t keep them even, no matter how hard he tries. They’re all chunky and oddly-shaped. He’s a failure. And also maybe a little dramatic.

“Here, let me help you,” Braydon fucking _purrs_ as he slides up behind Misha. He slips his hands through Misha’s arms. “Loosen your hold a little.” He jingles Misha’s hand a bit, for lack of a better term. “Yeah, like that. And then you just sort of find a flow that works for you.” He guides Misha’s hands through a couple of chops. “Perfect, just keep it up.”

He looks over his shoulder at Braydon, who is smiling at him. With his eyes. It’s a lot. Wow.

“Think you’ve got it now?”

“Yeah, I…” He shrugs and nods.

Braydon laughs and pats him on the shoulder. “I believe in you.”

Misha feels his cheeks heat like a high school kid as he goes back to his task, being sure to keep his grip loose like Braydon showed him.

Later it occurs to Misha, as he watching Braydon roll around on the floor playing mini sticks with kids, that there’s no way the guy is real.

Games against the Jets are always close, always a little chippy, but Misha feels pretty good about himself when he scores a power play goal to open the second period. It has nothing on Braydon’s beauty of a slap shot from the blue line to keep the game from going into overtime. Just, stunning.

What can he say, good hockey gets him hot.

He’s determined that tonight is going to be the night and lets the low hum of arousal simmer as they all strip down and clean off. He feels Braydon’s eyes on him in the locker room and he waits in his stall until Braydon heads for the parking lot, following him out to his car.

“Can I give you a ride?” Braydon asks.

“Only if you’re taking me to your house.”

Braydon considers, looks Misha up and down. “Get in.”

Misha tries not to fiddle around in the passenger seat but he catches himself picking at his nails and tapping his fingers on his thighs and at one point actually twiddling his thumbs. He is incredibly amped up and being alone with Braydon is just making it worse. Better? He’s thinking about the way Braydon kisses him, the way he nearly takes him apart with nothing but his mouth. And he is a good guy. A Good Guy. God, is he good. It’s not fair when he turns that smile on him, when he laughs at his own stupid jokes and Misha can’t do anything but laugh, too. He’s so gentle and soft. Misha wants to see if he can break him out of that. Wants to see if he can find the side of Braydon that would pin him down and take what he wants.

Nikita hasn’t asked about the bet in days and Misha hasn’t felt like he’s had to play up his flirting or put on the charm. He’s just been himself and Braydon likes him.

He slouches down in his seat, spreads his legs a little.

Braydon’s hand slips from the gearshift to his knee and it’s like a lightning strike straight to his heart.

“Should we, uh. Should we talk about this?” Misha’s voice sounds breathy and desperate. God, he needs Braydon like, yesterday.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to fuck me?”

Braydon lets the question simmer between them. “Do you want me to?”

“_Yes_.”

He watches Braydon lick at his lips, twist his fingers around the steering wheel. The hand he has on Misha’s thigh stays maddeningly still.

“Please.”

“You don’t have to beg.”

Misha wants to, though. Wants to whine and complain and be a brat until he gets Braydon’s mouth on him, his hands, his teeth, his tongue. “I’ll be good.”

Braydon jerks the car to a stop, the only sign his resolve is slipping. “I know.”

He closes his eyes and tries to think about anything other than Braydon’s hand on his thigh, how his fingers curve along the seam of his pants. He doesn’t let himself think about Braydon’s bed, how big it must be. He bets he splurges on sheets, nice cotton ones.

“We’re here.”

And so they are, sitting in Braydon’s driveway. The porch light is on. Braydon’s hand isn’t on his leg anymore and he misses it.

They both grab their bags out of the car and Braydon opens the garage to use the side door that leads right into the kitchen.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Misha’s mouth goes a little dry when Braydon turns his back to him and he can see the spread of his muscles under his dress shirt. “No, I’m good.”

Braydon uncaps a water bottle and drains half of it, throat working. A droplet slips out and down into his beard. Oh god, his _beard_.

He holds the water bottle out to Misha, eyebrows encouraging him to drink the rest. Misha takes the bottle and throws it in the sink before rocking up onto his toes to slam a kiss to Braydon’s lips.

It catches Braydon off-guard and Misha deepens the kiss immediately, wanting more. Wanting everything. He tugs at the knot of Braydon’s tie, tries to work the buttons of his shirt open but everything is tangled. His hands are failing him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pulling back. “Just take it off.”

Braydon has the audacity to laugh at him, to easily pull his tie off and undo the first several buttons of his shirt with a quiet confidence and a devilish smirk. He dips down to kiss Misha again, when he’s finished. “Impatient,” he whispers against Misha’s lips.

“Sue me.” He continues with the buttons until he has to pull Braydon’s shirt out of his pants. He gets his hands all over him. His chest and shoulders, around his ribs, down to his hips.

Braydon crowds him against the island, leans him back so he feels the cold press of marble. “I’m not fucking you in the kitchen.”

A shiver runs down Misha’s spine. He’ll save that image for later. “Then take me to bed.”

Braydon’s bedroom is simple and well kept and Misha has about fifteen seconds to get his bearings before Braydon lips brush the shell of his ear and down the back of his neck. His arms wrap around Misha’s chest and nimble fingers make quick work of the buttons of his shirt, the buckle of his belt and button of his pants. He’s nearly naked in record time, held up in Braydon’s sturdy arms.

“Look at you,” Braydon mumbles, dragging his fingers down the front of him. Lingering at the waistband of his underwear.

Misha lays his head back on Braydon’s shoulder, gives him full access to his jaw and neck. He wants to feel his skin get warm from his beard as he kisses him there.

“Get on the bed.”

Misha goes, settling right in the middle. He bends one knee, gets a hand on himself over his boxers as Braydon strips down. Misha thinks he could do a bit more of a show but when he steps out of his own shorts, Misha’s entire brain short circuits. “Hello.”

Braydon huffs as he climbs into bed, settling between Misha’s legs. He brushes his hands up Misha’s thighs before leaning up and over him, boxing him in.

Misha can’t help but touch, trying desperately to pull Braydon closer. Trying to touch all of him at once.

Braydon catches Misha's hands, pins them to the bed and leans down to say, "Let me."

His voice rumbles through Misha, oh god, and he arches up, strains for Braydon’s touch. “Please,” he whines.

Misha doesn’t have to beg again. Braydon does away with his boxers and settles against him. He dips his head for a kiss and then traces wet lines down his chest with his tongue, teasing each nipple in turn until Misha’s gasping for it.

“Turn on your side,” Braydon says against the cap of Misha’s shoulder.

He obeys and Braydon fits himself to his back, wraps himself around Misha’s body with his arms and legs, tucks his head over Misha’s shoulder to _look_.

Braydon buries his face in Misha’s neck, worries at the tendon as he gets a hand around him. Misha is feeling so much more than he should be. Also, beard burn. On his cheeks and neck and across his shoulder, anywhere Braydon lays a kiss, Misha feels it. God, it feels _good_. He wants to know what that beard feels like on the inside of his thighs. He shivers just imagining it and Braydon catches him.

“What’re you thinking about,” he asks all sultry and unfair in Misha’s ear.

Misha whines, rocks back against Braydon’s hips. Braydon drags a hand down between Misha’s pecs, over his stomach. “Tell me.”

“Thinking about...about how good your mouth would feel. Between my legs.”

Braydon chuckles, all dark and deep. He cups Misha, lets him rut against his hand. “You like my mouth, sexy?”

Misha gasps. “Like your beard, the way it feels. Marks me up.”

“You wanna feel me tomorrow?” he asks. “Under your pads out on the ice, they way they’d drag against the marks I’ll leave. You want to remember the way you felt when I made them.”

It’s not really a question which is great since Misha doesn’t have the capacity to answer.

“I’ll keep them hidden, here,” he says, brushing a hand over Misha’s shoulder, down his spine between their bodies. “No one will know except you and me.”

“Fuck.” He shivers again.

Braydon is galaxies away from any person Misha’s ever gotten into bed. So fucking confident and _sure_. Experienced. There’s no fumbling or awkward moments of where to put hands or mouths. It’s just overwhelmingly perfect.

He rolls Misha onto his back, then, and rubs his beard all over his thighs just like he wants until Misha’s whining and whimpering and desperate for more. Until he gets his fingers all up in Braydon’s hair, tries to direct him to his dick to get some fucking relief.

He can hear himself, so loud and showy and _needy_. Fuck, he’s never felt so out of control, so safe in someones hands.

Braydon looks up at him from between his legs, lips all red and full. “What do you want?”

“Anything! God, anything,” Misha rushes out. “Fuck me.”

And then Braydon is gone, off the bed and no longer touching Misha and it’s horrifying.

“No, what? Where did yo--.”

Braydon drops the bottle of lube on the bed, followed by a condom.

Misha spreads his legs.

“So needy.”

“You’ve been teasing me forever.”

Braydon smirks and slicks up his fingers. “I know. You make it so easy.”

Misha keens when Braydon’s first finger presses inside. It’s an easy slide, barely filling him up enough. He rocks back on it, urging Braydon faster.

“I can take it, c’mon.”

Braydon takes him at his word, stretching him with another finger. He lights him up when he curves his fingers inside him and Misha can’t stop the gasps. _God,_ he’s never felt like this. Every nerve in his body is honed to Braydon, every move he makes sends lightning straight up Misha’s spine.

He’s not sure he really feels the third of Braydon’s fingers but he does lean into the sharp kisses he places under his chin and down his neck, beard scratching the skin pink.

Nothing has ever felt better than this.

Braydon shifts him back onto his side, curves his big, strong body around him. Holds him close as he presses into the space he made for himself, filling Misha up.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, reaching back to dig his fingers into Braydon’s thigh as he seats himself fully.

“Take me so well,” he sighs against Misha’s neck.

They stay like that, settled in each other’s bodies. Braydon brushes fleeting kisses against the parts of Misha he can reach until they’re both struggling to hold back. Struggling to keep everything light and delicate.

Misha doesn’t want delicate.

He arches back into Braydon’s hold, wordlessly urging him to move.

Braydon’s first thrust is heaven. Again and again he presses deeply into Misha, again and again Misha makes room for him. He wants Braydon to cover him entirely, to take everything he needs. Misha wants to be pinned to the bed, held still.

Braydon’s breath is ragged as he works his hips and Misha thrills at every little hitch of it. Every little indication he’s as desperate as Misha feels.

“Can you?” Braydon asks. “Without my hand?”

The idea alone makes Misha clench down against Braydon, tighten up in all the right places. “N-no, please. Touch me.”

He does. Long fingers curving around Misha, drawing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Say my name when you come,” he orders.

Misha sees stars. “B-Braydon…”

It’s perfect, the way he takes what he needs from Misha after he’s spent. Quick snaps of his hips, fingers pressed into Misha’s skin leaving bruises, teeth gently fixed to Misha’s neck in a parody of what could be.

Misha sighs, imagining the dark purple teeth marks he could leave. Completely sated.

Entirely ruined for anyone else.

“I’ll be right back,” Braydon says, slipping free and rolling to his feet.

Misha groans at the loss and rolls onto his stomach, presses his face into the nearest pillow. He could scream with how amazing he feels, how amazing Braydon is. Fuck. _Fuck_.

“Here, let me…” Braydon leans over him and wipes at his skin with a warm cloth. “Are you thirsty? I brought water.”

“‘M fine,” he whines into the pillow.

“C’mere,” Braydon insists, opening his arms until Misha curves into them. “Was that okay?”

He groans. “Do we have to debrief?”

“It got pretty intense. I just want to know you’re okay.”

Misha finds Braydon’s lips and lays gentle kisses there. “I’m perfect.”

“Yeah.” Braydon tucks some of Misha’s hair behind his ear with the world’s most earnest look in his eyes.

Misha can’t take it, buries his blushing cheeks in Braydon’s chest.

**6\. Kuch Ruins Everything**

Braydon’s curled all around Misha when he wakes up in the morning. He feels each breath Misha takes stretching against the hold he has on his chest. Little puffs of air on his arms. He takes stock of his own body, the way his heart beats calmly.

He feels _good_. Last night was...good. He has no idea what it is about Misha that makes him want to take him apart like that, to take charge. It felt natural and Misha responded so well, like he was made for it. Made for Braydon.

He wasn’t looking, but Misha found him and made him feel whole again. Fell right into his arms and filled up all those broken spaces left behind. It sounds so god damned cliche, but it’s all so...so _right_.

The temptation to keep him here in his bed is strong but, “Hey,” Braydon whispers into Misha’s ear. “You need to wake up.”

Misha makes a little grumbly noise and buries his face in Braydon’s chest. Braydon huffs a small laugh as he runs his fingers into Misha’s hair.

“I think your cat might be upset if you don’t feed him.”

“Her,” Misha corrects, stretching.

“Sorry, her,” Braydon nuzzles Misha’s nose and climbs out of bed. He ignores Misha’s whine while he heads off to brush his teeth.

Misha is still laying in his bed when he returns a couple minutes later. He looks so good there, and Braydon could really get used to that.

“Here,” he says, holding out a key.

“What’s this?” Misha asks, sitting up. His eyes are wide enough that Braydon knows he at least has an idea.

“Key.” He shrugs, goes for nonchalant. “Then you don’t have to wait for me, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Misha echoes with a smile as he reaches out to accept it.

Misha is already on his couch when he gets home from practice a couple days later.

He grins. "You said I could use it and not have to wait."

"That's true." Braydon smiles and his grin softens.

He pats the spot next to him and Braydon settles down. He places an arm around Misha and pulls him close.

“Did you have to get much work after practice?” Misha lays his head on Braydon’s shoulder, looks up at him.

It does some things to his heart, but he’s going to ignore it for now. “Nah, I’m fine. I was watching video with Rocco.”

“Ah, he does like that.” Misha hides a smirk behind his hand. It makes Braydon want to pull him even closer and never let go.

So much for ignoring it.

“Hey, let’s go for a walk,” Misha says, popping up.

“A walk?”

“Yeah, Bayshore is, like, two blocks that way and it’s a nice day...so let’s go!”

“First of all, it’s two blocks that way,” Braydon chuckles as he points the opposite direction of Misha.

Misha’s cheeks go pink. “I’m still learning the geography here,” he mutters. Braydon brings a hand up, drags a fingertip along his warm cheekbone.

“It’s alright, you’ll get it.” He smiles again. “Come on, let’s go.”

Misha threads his fingers into Braydon’s after he locks his front door. A little sound of surprise escapes him at the action.

“Is this...okay?” Misha asks, looking up at him all nervously.

God, he’s so cute. Braydon gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s great.” He tugs Misha towards Bayshore. “Come on, let’s go downtown.” He doesn’t have a care in the world as their hands swing between them on the way over the bridge.

“We should totally skate!” Misha says excitedly when they get to Winter Village at Curtis Hixon.

“You don’t think we skate enough?” Braydon asks, letting himself be dragged towards the covered rink.

“Not recreationally. Come on, let’s live a little!”

“I'm here, aren’t I?” Braydon says while Misha fusses him into line. Misha grins at him and steps up to the counter.

“Size twelve, please.” He tugs at Braydon’s hand to prompt him.

“Oh. Um, fourteen.”

Misha looks down at his feet with wide eyes. It makes him a little nervous. “What?”

“I never realized how big your feet are, that’s all.” He glances back up, grins. “But now it all makes so much sense.”

“I regret this conversation already,” Braydon laughs.

“Uh, we don’t have size fourteen,” the attendant says, drawing their attention back.

“What?” Misha frowns. “Are you serious?”

“It isn’t a super popular size,” Braydon says, rubbing Misha’s arm.

“I know, I’m just--” He shrugs. “Thanks anyway,” he says to the girl behind the counter.

“Hey, don’t be so down about it.” Braydon pulls Misha into a hug. “We can do it some other time. I’ll bring my own skates.”

“Yeah?” Misha gives him this adorable little half-smile. Braydon thinks it’s his favorite one yet. “Promise?”

“Yeah, of course.” Braydon realizes that they’re swaying to the Christmas music blaring over the speakers. Instead of pointing it out, he asks, “Why don’t we go over to Armature Works for dinner to make up for it?”

“That sounds like a plan,” Misha replies, his grin going wide and lopsided. “Oak and Ola?”

“If that’s where you want to go,” Braydon nods. He steps back, grabs Misha’s hand again. “C’mon.” He tugs Misha towards the colorful fountains at the front of the park.

“I don’t want today to end,” Misha says once they find their way home.

Braydon turns to him after locking the door. “It doesn’t have to.”

“No?” Misha blinks up at him bashfully. It’s much better than Misha’s _come hither_ look, makes his heart do a little somersault in his chest.

“Nah.” Braydon grabs Misha’s hand, threads their fingers and tugs him towards the couch. He pulls Misha into his lap, settling him the way that he likes best, knees on either side of his hips.

He tips his head back, resting it on the couch so he can leisurely take his fill of Misha’s face. Braydon loves the way his hair’s gone all fluffy and windblown, how his cheekbones define his face so perfectly without being too sharp. And his soft brown eyes that are searching Braydon’s face for something.

“What?”

Misha opens and closes his mouth a couple times before he shakes his head and smiles. “Nothing.”

Braydon’s going to push, but then Misha’s leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It’s like the first kiss in the way it’s so soft and gentle, but it also isn’t because this, _them_, it already feels familiar. He runs his fingers into Misha’s messy hair, using it to move him as he pleases.

A breathy little gasp escapes him and Braydon takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. He’s just about to pull Misha’s bottom lip into his mouth when Misha breaks the kiss.

“Is something wrong?” Braydon asks, brushing a thumb along Misha’s jawline.

“N-no, I…” He bites his bottom lip. “Can we go upstairs?”

“Yeah, of course.” Braydon nods.

Misha smiles and smacks a quick kiss to his lips before pulling him towards the stairs.

He makes sure his movements are slow and deliberate as he removes Misha’s clothes. His shirt, the button on his pants. He leans in close, buries his nose behind Misha’s ear, taking in the scent as his hands dispose of briefs. He makes sure there’s a little growl in his voice when he says, “Get in the bed.”

He loves the way Misha almost stumbles on his way. Always so desperate, wants it so hard and quick. It’s sexy. _He’s_ sexy.

But it isn’t for tonight.

Braydon knows that Misha wants a show, it was written all over his face last time they were in this position. It isn’t something he’s ever done, but he wants to work on it for Misha. He’d give him anything he asked for.

He can practice it later, but today he just wants his clothes off.

Misha relaxes under him when Braydon boxes him in, tipping his chin for a kiss. Braydon leans in, his mouth going straight for Misha’s neck. He revels in the little groan he hears before moving down to his shoulder.

Lips fluttering down his chest.

Trailing his tongue down the line of his sternum.

Slow, open-mouthed kisses along his stomach.

Misha is squirming under him, whining a bit, but all Braydon cares about at the moment is the way his skin is pinking up so prettily.

Braydon licks a strip up Misha’s dick then blows on it lightly.

“Braydon, _please_,” Misha huffs, arching up a bit.

He smiles, pins his hips to the bed. “Not yet.” His voice has taken on the rough growl he seems to have recently acquired. He doesn’t know where it even came from, but Misha always whimpers whenever it makes an appearance, so it must be good. Somehow.

He drags his lips lazily along the dip of Misha’s hip, wraps a hand around his dick, gives a little pull as he bites down.

Misha’s body reacts like he doesn’t know _how_ to react and it’s sort of satisfying that he can cause so many reactions at once.

“Did you know that you’re beautiful?” he asks, his hand still working Misha over ever so gently.

“I’m...what?” Misha pushes up on his elbows.

“Has no one ever told you that before?” Braydon slinks up Misha’s body. He thinks he even does a pretty good job of looking more sexy than stupid.

“No, I.” He stops, leans into Braydon’s hand, placing one of his own on top of where his jaw is cupped. His eyes flutter closed. “You’re the first.”

Braydon smiles into his kiss, deepens it carelessly, revels in the feeling of Misha grasping at his back. “So beautiful,” he mutters just to taste one of Misha’s little gasps.

He grinds their hips together a couple of times, lets Misha almost find a rhythm before he pins his hips down again.

“_Braydon_,” comes the full-blown whine, his name dragged out about ten syllables too long. Maybe he’s waited long enough.

“Okay,” he soothes, “Okay, I’ll get the stuff.” He presses a little kiss to the corner of Misha’s mouth before he goes to the bathroom for the lube and a condom.

He should really think about getting a nightstand.

“Did you miss me?” he asks when little grabby hands meet his arrival back at the bed.

“Come back, I’m cold.” Misha pouts up at him. How is it even fair that he looks like that? Braydon spreads himself back over him and he sighs. “That’s better.”

“Can’t lay here and prep you,” Braydon says.

Misha wilts, just a little. “_Fine_.”

Braydon takes his time prepping Misha, doesn’t let any amount of moaning, begging, or fidgeting change his speed. It’s just the two of them there, his slow, patient slide stretching Misha as slowly as he can manage.

He’s all but melted into the bed by the time Braydon’s through with him. He looks relaxed, so soft and ready for the taking. He reaches for the condom only to have Misha’s hand close on his.

“No, I don’t.” His head is shaking quickly. He squeezes his eyes closed. “I don’t want that.”

Braydon blinks at him. His voice is barely above a whisper when he asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I...I want, _need_ to feel you.” His voice his breathless, it makes Braydon’s insides go all staticy. He tries to come up with a reason that they shouldn’t, but Misha’s continuing, “I’m clean, you’re clean. We both know we’re clean and I just.” He sobs out a little broken sigh. “I need it.”

Who is Braydon to deny him anything? He drops the condom, brushes at Misha’s hair. “Yeah, of course.” He runs his hands down Misha’s body, gives his hips a little squeeze before hitching them up.

The slide is perfect, just like before. Like he was made for Braydon. But it’s also so much fucking _more_ that he has to pause and bite his bottom lip for some sort of distraction because _holy shit._

He starts out slow. He wants to savor the feeling, revel in it. Every few thrusts Misha tries to raise his hips, to meet him, but Braydon pins his hips down, stops him. “Just let me…”

“I can’t,” Misha whines, “It’s too much, I need to…”

He drops to his elbows, cups Misha’s face, presses their foreheads together. “You want to feel me, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

“So, _feel me_,” Braydon whispers before he kisses Misha, swallows down his groan.

He kisses every bit of Misha he can reach. He loves the feeling of Misha grasping at him, the tiny hitch of his hips as he tries to find some friction. Revels in the nonsense that falls from Misha’s lips, the broken begging mixed with whines and whimpers.

Braydon slips his hand around Misha just and he nuzzles the spot below his ear. Misha tenses, and Braydon whispers, “Beautiful boy.”

He bites at the junction of Misha’s jaw and strokes him through his orgasm. Braydon starts to pull away, he needs to finish,_ fuck_ does he need it _now_, but Misha wraps his legs around his hips.

“Finish, please just…” he trails off, urges Braydon to move.

The little aftershocks of his body feel fucking amazing while Braydon chases his own completion. He buries his face in Misha’s neck, bites his bottom lip. He’s so close, he should…

“I’m really close, should I…?”

Misha grips at his shoulder, pulls him close. “No, please. Just finish.”

It’s all he needs to tip over the edge. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself feel everything.

Braydon sags, but doesn’t let the full of his weight land on Misha, and breathes through the aftermath.

“You okay, champ?” Misha asks quietly after a couple of minutes. He’s swirling light fingers aimlessly around on Braydon’s back.

He swallows. “Yeah, I. Sorry.”

Braydon slips free and pulls Misha in. He nuzzles into Braydon’s body and keeps him close. “You’re so good to me.”

The words pull at some part of his chest that has laid dormant for months. “You make it easy.” It’s the truth but it feels like too much to say, too honest.

Misha burrows deeper into the snuggle they have going on and lets the air around them cool down.

Braydon’s exhausted but he knows they should get up and clean off. “Shower?”

“Only if you wash my hair,” Misha complains into Braydon’s neck.

He huffs but acquiesces. “C’mon, you. Let’s go.”

Misha wakes him in the morning with gentle kisses into his neck.

“Good morning,” he whispers.

“Mm, yeah, it is,” Braydon agrees, rolling onto his back to stretch. Misha lays his head on his chest.

“Wish we could just stay here all morning.”

“Too bad we don’t have an off day.” Braydon runs a hand into Misha’s hair while he hums in agreement.

“Guess I better go feed my cat,” he says after a couple of minutes.

“Oh, right. Good idea.” He gives Misha’s hair a little squeeze and releases. He groans when he climbs out of bed and pulls his clothes on.

Misha crawls across his bed, presses a closed-mouth kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see you at practice.”

“Drive safe.”

“Always,” Misha answers with a grin as he slips out of the bedroom.

Braydon lays there for a couple minutes after he hears the front door before he pushes himself up to get ready.

He’s at his stall preparing for practice when Kuch comes up and asks if they can go for a walk.

“Look, I shouldn’t have done it, and I’m sorry, but I can’t let it go now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Misha was bragging that he could fuck anyone he wanted, so we bet him he couldn’t with you.” Kuch frowns. “We thought he’d just get shot down by you a couple of times, but he.” Kuch stops, frowns even deeper. “He cheated. Used romance.”

“He what?”

“It seems like it worked?” Kuch continues like Braydon didn’t even say anything. “You like him now? A lot, yeah, I can tell.” He sighs. “But you shouldn’t, because he is just playing a game.”

“But we--”

"He bet us he could fuck you. You mean nothing to him." Kuch snaps. Braydon winces but Kuch keeps going. “Sorry, but you have to understand. We picked you because we thought you would turn him down. He insisted that he can fuck anyone he wants, even someone who is a challenge, like you. No problem.” Kuch scratches along his jawline. “He thinks you’re ugly, that your beard is gross.” Kuch places a hand on Braydon’s arm, looks up at him with wide eyes. “He told me that being around you would be a drag.”

“What?” Braydon pauses, thinks on it. He can’t think of any time that Misha said or did anything that backs up what Kuch is saying. Misha told him he’s hot, begged for beard burn, begged to _feel him_. Last night they didn’t even use...they practically made--

Braydon stops short, looks back to Kuch. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. He made our bet higher, five hundred, because he would have to touch you. And your beard.” Kuch frowns into the distance for a minute or so. “Sorry,” he repeats. “I’m sure that he doesn’t like you, but I’m also sure he wants to win.” He shakes his head, looks angrily at the floor. “I can tell by the way you look at him when I see you together that you care about him. It wouldn’t be fair to let this happen now.”

Braydon doesn’t want to believe that they’ve spent this much time together, sharing so much, but it means nothing to Misha. Why would he volunteer with him? Or sleep over? Why would he lay in Braydon’s bed, cling to him and say the things he said last night?

How could he make Braydon feel like he matters again if he doesn’t care at all?

“What if I don’t believe you?”

Kuch shrugs. “Ask him then.”

Braydon is quiet during practice, leaves without saying anything, isn’t last out, doesn’t even stop and sign. He goes home and waits for Misha to show up. He doesn’t have to wait long.

Misha lets himself in. “Hey, you weren’t yourself at practice this morning. Are you okay?” Braydon looks at him, and he must look fucking terrible, because he takes a step closer and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Kuch said that this, that _we_ are just a bet to you. But he's fucking with me, right?” Braydon needs it to be a prank, but Misha falters. And Braydon’s heart shatters.

“I can’t believe I thought that I meant something to you.” He pauses, thinks about all the ways he made himself a fool over this kid who doesn’t really want him, who used him for... “I guess I mean exactly five hundred somethings to you.”

"Braydon, I’m...It started that way but it's not like that now!"

Braydon shakes his head, looks down at his feet. He’d been all caught up in his feelings last night, but it’s clear looking back Misha wasn’t interested in keeping it slow, in it meaning anything. He doesn’t have any feelings for him. Kuch was right and he sees that now.

"Please, you have to believe me. I don't want to hurt you."

"You took my pain and loneliness and used them against me like a...a _weapon_. What else am I supposed to believe?"

"I didn't know you then, not like I do now.” Misha takes a couple of steps his direction and it takes everything he has not to step back. “Now I know better. I know about cooking and volunteering and dinner dates and, god, last night when we--”

“No, stop.” Braydon holds up a hand, shakes his head. “I’ll never know if you mean anything you say to me.” He sighs, turns away. “You won your bet, there’s no reason for you to be here anymore. Enjoy your five hundred dollars. You can leave my key on the way out.”

“Why would I have stuck around if it was just that?” Misha asks.

Braydon almost wants to admit that he has a point.

But he knows what it really was. “Maybe I was just good enough, or, I don’t know, easy enough that you wanted a second round. I hope it was enjoyable, even if I’m so disgusting.”

“Braydon, listen to me--”

Braydon whips back around. “Teammates I only see at the rink call me Coby.” His eyes betray him, washing over Misha’s form. How in the fuck had he ever believed for even one second that Mi--that _Sergy_ wanted him? “Enjoy your money.”

His face goes cloudy and Braydon thinks that he’s a really good actor, working so hard to sell what doesn’t matter in the end. Braydon wonders if he’s going to argue further, but he just drops the key on the counter.

It’s still making an awful racket when the door slams.

Braydon sinks onto his couch, rubs at his eyes. He’d spent the whole time he was with Slater in awe that someone like Slater would want him, but this hadn’t felt like that. It’d been so easy to be with him. It seemed like they fit together so perfectly.

It should have been the first thing that tipped him off.

No wonder he always said yes when Braydon asked if he wanted him. The time he said Braydon’s hot finally makes sense.

He wasn’t blind; just lying.

**7\. $500 in Quarters**

Misha goes to Nikita enraged and launches a box of quarters straight at his head. "Here's your fucking money. Are you happy? You win."

He just barely gets out of the way fast enough. “Jesus _fuck_, you could have concussed me!”

"You’d deserve it! Fuck you! And now you have five hundred more bucks and that’s really all that matters to you, I'm sure."

“Why are you still acting like you care about him? You forget that I know better.” Kuch scoffs. “You don't have to pretend to me of all people, Misha.”

“You think you know me, but you couldn’t even _see _us properly_._” Misha shakes his head. This is unbelievable. “Fuck you, Nikita.”

Misha doesn’t want to say he’s grateful that Shatty’s out, but, yeah. He’s sort of relieved when he comes in and finds out that he’s he’s going to be paired with Heddy today.

He is _not_ happy to see Ruttsy looking up at Braydon all awe-struck-heart-eye-y, but that’s an issue for some other time.

“What are you all pissy about?”

Misha frowns over at the sound of Heddy’s voice. “What? There’s nothing wrong.” He tries to skate away but Heddy cuts him off at the pass no matter which way he turns. “Heddy,” he whines, exaggerating each syllable.

“You aren’t fooling me, so spill it.”

Misha sighs and fills him in. On all of it, even the parts that make him look like the raging asshole that he is.

Heddy stares at him for two full minutes before he finally says, "Why is my team made up of stupid people." Just like that. Not a question. “Why are you so dumb?”

Oh. That is. Misha tries to sputter out a reply, but Heddy doesn’t wait around for an answer. Instead he skates over to Braydon, who doesn’t look his way once while they talk.

Misha considers interrupting them, trying to plead his case again. But he waits. He knows the right thing to do is just...wait.

Heddy returns eventually with a bland look on his face, drops into a stretch. “He said it isn’t your fault that he was stupid enough to believe that someone like you wanted someone like him.”

“What does that mean?” Misha asks. “Someone like me?”

“He didn’t say,” Heddy continues conversationally. “But if I had to guess? He means a kid.”

“I'm not a kid!” Misha shoots back a little too loudly. Pally and Johnny look at him funny as they skate by.

Heddy changes his stretch position. “Aren't you?”

“I made a couple dumb choices,” he hisses. “But that doesn't make me a _kid_.”

Heddy shrugs. “Guess you gotta prove that to Coby then.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“I'd expect someone who isn't a kid to work that out himself, to be honest.” He goes quiet after that and Misha thinks that the conversation is over.

He isn’t so lucky though.

“Do you really care about him, or do you just _think_ you do because you’ve been spending time with him?”

Misha considers his question for a couple seconds. “Have you ever noticed how his eyes crinkle when he smiles?”

“No.”

“Or how he makes the most ridiculous dad jokes and then laughs harder at them than anyone else?”

“Uh, no. Can’t say that I have.” Heddy screws up his face in annoyance. “What does this have to do with--”

“How about how he stays on and helps anyone who wants extra time on the ice?” Misha smiles at no one in particular. “They usually have to make him leave.”

“Oh, yeah. That one I know.”

Misha’s already moved on. “He grew a beard as a protective measure for his heart but his smile still makes his eyes glitter. And he, he watches me play video games even though he can hardly work his phone. Acts like he’s interested in what I’m doing even.”

“Jesus. You’re in love with him.” Heddy claps in on the shoulder before he stands.“You should probably be telling _him_ these things.”

Misha watches Heddy skate away while he mulls over his words. He goes through practice on autopilot, thinking long and hard about everything that’s happened.

He’s pulling off his left shin pad when he has a stroke of brilliance.

He stops by the bank, gets five hundred one dollar bills.

He runs into Publix on a whim to search out sharpies in as many colors as he can find. And then he heads straight home to get to work.

**8\. 500 Somethings**

There’s a dollar bill sitting on the seat to Braydon’s stall when he arrives for practice. He takes a quick glance around but no one seems to be paying it any attention. He shrugs and picks it up, curious as to why it’s all marked up with sharpie.

1 Your eyes glitter when you smile (A drawing of eyes with little sparkles around them)

He doesn’t think that it’s supposed to be for him, despite where he found it. He tucks it into his bag and decides to find its proper owner later.

Two more dollars float down from his cubby after practice.

2 You always stay to help anyone who wants it (stick figure celebrating w/hockey stick)

And

3 The way you laugh at your own ridiculous jokes (laughing emoji)

Okay, maybe they are for him. He thinks he knows what’s going on here, but it isn’t going to work.

So what if he keeps the dollars. It doesn’t mean anything.

He keeps getting them every day, sometimes two and three times a day. Once he gets one that seems like it’s the middle of a thought:

22 Actually, yeah, your laugh itself (A smile and a heart)

And one that’s cute:

37 You’re a fungi. (A dancing mushroom)

And then they get a bit dirty, and Braydon blushes to read them in public:

54 Your hands are so big (a hand)

55 They fit around my dick perfectly (a dick)

56 And other places (a bum)

Misha is always purposefully Looking Elsewhere when Braydon looks up from a dollar, but there’s absolutely no doubt that it’s him. Especially after this latest set.

It isn’t going to work, though.

They continue, some of them are pretty nice, he isn’t going to lie:

82 You cook for someone just because they miss home (a pot)

94 You hate cell phones but still facetime with me (a phone)

And some other dirty ones that make him blush:

111 Beard burn (a torso with little scratch marks)

The one that makes him cave is actually pretty unremarkable compared to some of the others he gets, but there’s just something about it…

149 That amazing beard you grew as a protective measure (a bushy beard and a heart)

Braydon pulls out his phone, types and sends a text before he can’t think better of it:

_Well, it didn’t work, did it?_

He doesn’t even have to wait five seconds before he gets a reply.

_No, and I’m glad. _The little dots bounce forever before Braydon receives a second text. _Can we talk? Please?_

_I’m not sure that’s a good idea._

_I have something to give you._

Braydon sighs. _Okay._

Misha shows up with a box full of dollars.

“I thought you might want to read the rest.”

“Not sure I do,” Braydon answers, going for resolved, firm.

“Why would I spend time on this if you didn’t mean anything to me?”

“That isn’t the point, Misha.” He huffs, opens his mouth, but Braydon continues, “The point is what you didn’t tell me, how you used me, how--”

“I didn’t ever use you,” Misha cuts in. “I one hundred percent made the bet, but I tried to cancel it as soon as I had feelings for you. Kuch wouldn’t let me.”

“When was that?” Braydon asks despite himself.

“The first time we kissed. When you asked my intentions and it was...” Misha shakes his head. “Magic.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how! And look how it turned out! I tried to end it and Kuch wouldn’t let me.”

“So Kuch came and ratted you out because you won?”

“Kuch didn’t know, I didn’t tell him.”

Braydon stops, revisits his conversation with Kuch. It did kind of sound like he thought that they hadn’t done anything yet now that he thinks about it. That means something, maybe...but still. He was a bet, a joke, a--

Misha steps right up into his space, looks him right in the eye. "I want to fall asleep with you on the couch and wake up in your arms in the morning. I want to make you breakfast and brush my teeth next to you and coordinate our ties and like, tell you all my secrets and make you feel better when you're sad or angry. I want all of you!”

“I don’t know if I can believe you.”

“Then look me in the eye and watch me tell you how much I fucking _love_ you and tell me I'm not speaking the truth.”

Braydon tries to shift his eyes away but Misha grabs him. Grips his beard tightly, makes him look.

“Hey, I do. I love you.” Misha says quietly. “I don't know what to do or say that will make you believe me, but I just…” Misha shakes his head, presses the lightest kiss to Braydon's forehead.

Misha nuzzles his nose, whispers, "I love you, Braydon." He gives a little squeeze, releases his grip on a sigh.

He turns away

Braydon grabs him, pulls him back.

Braydon puts his hands on Misha's hips, feels him standing there. Their foreheads tipped together now and he so desperately wants to believe. “What happens if I believe you?”

“_Do_ you believe me?” Misha asks, his voice a whisper.

"Misha, I..." Braydon breathes, really thinks about the words he wants to say. “I’m not sure I can do this again.”

“I know that I don’t deserve another chance, I really do, but please, Braydon, I can’t imagine life without you anymore.”

He turns away abruptly, shuffles through the box of bills. He turns back to Braydon, holds one out.

“What’s this?”

“Number five hundred.”

Braydon takes it from him. He reads it. Then reads it again. He looks back up and studies Misha, really searches him.

“You mean this?”

“I mean all of them.”

Braydon pulls Misha into a kiss, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and holding the back of his head in his palm.

He drops the bill when he tugs Misha into the bedroom.

500 The world (a globe)

**9\. Oh Yes**

Misha sees the hit coming but it still hurts like a motherfucker.

He takes a minute down on the ice to get breath back into his lungs before getting to his knees. The whistle blows and he hears the scuffle breaking out, the crowd getting into it.

He doesn’t expect to look over and see Braydon with his gloves off and a wild look in his eyes. Tommy gets there then, towel in hand, sliding to his knees next to Misha.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just...need a second.”

Tommy helps him to his feet and back to the bench. Misha hears the crowd roar and then Braydon is stomping down the tunnel, helmet off and _angry_. It steals what little breath he has right out of him and he nearly chokes on the inappropriate arousal rushing through his veins.

“Come on,” Tommy says. “The hit was high. We’ve gotta put you in concussion protocol.”

Misha wants to be a brat about it, there’s still half the game left to play, but he agrees and heads down the tunnel after Braydon.

The quiet room is down the hall from the locker room but Misha wants to stop there, wants to sit in the stall next to where Braydon’s no doubt simmering, icing his knuckles. He knows he’s the one who might be hurt but he wants to make sure Braydon’s okay.

Braydon, who stuck up for him.

Braydon, who sacrificed himself for him.

“Yeah, no. I’m fine,” he says, turning back toward the locker room. “I don’t need the protocol.” What he needs is to kiss each of Braydon’s knuckles in thanks and then probably kiss a few other things.

“Sergy,” Tommy warns, still escorting him. “It’s not a choice. C’mon, you probably _are_ fine, but we need to be sure.”

Misha relents. “Get this over with.”

He’s cleared for contact and they scrap together a win in the third period and Braydon’s sitting there all buttoned up in his suit after as the boys trail in and start stripping out of their sweaty clothes. Misha just wants to steal him away, to rush him out the door and into his car and back to his house.

Fuck, he’s wild with the idea.

So he dodges media, gets on the bike for the absolute minimum amount of time, and rushes through a shower. “Let’s go,” he says, trying to stuff his shit into his backpack. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure, did you even stre--.”

Misha leans in real close, close enough that if anyone looked they would _know_. “I’m not done with physical activity for the night.”

Braydon swallows. “That’s not really how that works--.”

“Take. Me. Home.”

Braydon gets with the program and follows Misha to the parking lot.

Misha is not a small person but Braydon makes him feel like he weighs nothing as he manhandles him through the garage door and into the house. He lifts him up against walls and knocks into door frames. It’s desperate in a totally different way from their other times together but no less overwhelming. Misha feels the full strength of Braydon as he lifts him up the first few stairs and he’s _breathless_ over it. They don’t even turn on a light, managing to find their way to the bed by touch and memory (and like, a little bit of trial and error but it’s fine).

Misha straddles Braydon’s hips, gets his hands flat against his chest and rocks down against him. Braydon’s big fucking hands fit around his waist and help him move in a dirty grind.

“You punched someone in the face for me.”

“Multiple times,” Braydon agrees, hands slipping down to feel Misha’s ass.

“So fucking hot.”

“What’re you going to do about it?”

Misha gets him out of his clothes and covers his pale chest and neck in little hickies that will fade before tomorrow afternoon. He gets his mouth on him, sucks him down and lets Braydon twist his fingers in his hair to direct him just a little. To take exactly what he needs.

He loves Braydon like this, teetering on the edge of control. Wants to make him lose it _so bad_.

When Braydon’s hard and starting to hitch his hips up off the bed, trying to fuck Misha’s mouth just a little, Misha pulls off to rifle through the bedside table. He slicks two fingers and doesn’t waste much time fitting them inside, stretching himself out. Braydon is perfectly proportional and Misha knows he needs the prep but _god_, he has to close his eyes and think of anything other than Braydon spread out underneath him like a holy buffet, eyes dark as sin and lips all bitten red.

He groans when Braydon’s equally proportional hands slide over his ribs and down his back, to his ass where he’s working. Braydon feels for where Misha’s fingers are sliding in and out, gets a fingertip of his own inside.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks, the world’s most polite devil.

“Fuck, yes,” he breathes out. “C’mon.”

Misha settles back on Braydon’s lap and they both swear as Braydon sinks into him.

“So good.” Misha lets the vowels stretch out forever, almost whining with how amazing it feels to be filled.

Braydon’s hands are there, gripping the dip of his waist as he starts to rock and feel the smooth slide. His thighs burn with the effort, already tired from the game, but it’s worth it to see the way Braydon’s eyes flutter shut, feel the way his fingers press little bruises into his skin, taste the way his breathy sighs fall onto Misha’s tongue when they kiss.

Misha knows he wants to take control, that the desire to see Misha on his back will win out eventually. He just has to wait, has to make it so good he can’t resist.

He bites his bottom lip, lets his eyelashes fan out along his cheeks before throwing his head back to show off his neck. Braydon’s hand slides up to his chest, covers the skin over his beating heart and snaps his hips to meet every dirty grind of Misha’s hips.

Misha might die. This might be it.

But Braydon does finally give in and he rolls them over in one smooth, practiced motion. Misha’s back hits the bed like it belongs there and Braydon barely misses a beat, burying himself back into Misha as they race toward the finish line.

Misha wraps his legs around Braydon’s hips and scratches down his back, clinging desperately as he feels himself approaching the edge.

“Are you gonna,” Braydon asks, breath hot and humid against Misha’s cheek. “Will you come for me?”

_Always,_ Misha wants to say. _You don’t ever have to ask._ But instead he just nods and clings and lets himself fall. He bites something dark into Braydon’s shoulder and feels him snap his hips faster, chasing his own release.

“Oh, Misha…” His name sounds reverent falling out of Braydon’s mouth in a broken sigh. It’s perfect.

Everything is unbelievably perfect.

“I think I’ll have you fight for my honor more often,” he says, breathless, legs still wrapped around Braydon’s waist.

Braydon chuckles into his chest, slips free. “I’m not your personal enforcer.”

“Okay so maybe just like, a couple times a year.”

He kisses Misha, back to his soft and gentle self. “Okay.”

**10\. All’s Well **

_A few weeks later_

Braydon wakes up settled. He knows it’s a game day from the alarm and he knows Misha stayed over from the warm body in his arms.

“Snooze,” Misha mumbles into his chest.

Braydon does not snooze. He has things to do this morning. So he gently extricates himself from Misha’s grabby hands and strong legs and heads for the bathroom.

He brushes his teeth and gets toothpaste in his beard, wipes at it with the hand towel. It’s due for a trim, some of the edges are getting scraggly and the bit under his lip is getting unruly.

He’s budgeted time for more than just a trim, though.

He grabs a plastic grocery bag from the kitchen and sets it up in the bathroom sink. He turns on the shower to try and drown out the noise of the electric razor and gets to work.

The extra length goes first, falling into the bag as his jawline starts to appear again. It’s as cathartic as he imagined it would be to finally do away with the beard. He takes his time under his chin and over his jaw, around his mouth. Each part of his face he shaves down to stubble is more exciting than the last, more freeing.

Eventually, the entirety of his past sits in the shopping bag in the sink. The heartbreak and the shield and the promise to never let himself fall again, gone.

He smiles at himself in the mirror.

“Are you almost don--.” Misha’s question cuts off when Braydon turns to him. He’s frozen in the open doorway and his eyes give away his shock. “Oh, _Braydon_.”

“D’you like it?”

He steps closer, raises a hand to touch the newly revealed skin. “I love it.”

It’s so sensitive and Braydon fights a shiver, just barely stops himself from pushing into Misha’s hand like a cat.

“I forgot what the face under that beard looked like,” Misha says quietly, running a knuckle up his jawline.

“I kind of did, too.”

“Thank you,” Misha says. “For letting me see.” He pops up on his toes to plant a quick kiss to Braydon’s newly stubbled face before pulling his sleep shirt over his head and tossing it toward their mingled pile of dirty clothes. “The hot water is gonna run out. It’s probably best if we shower together.”

“It’s a game day.”

“I thought we determined that orgasms were good for game performance.” He winks before he slips behind the fogged up glass door of the shower.

Braydon ties up his bag of beard hair and shoves it in the trash before joining him under the spray.

It’s only been a few weeks but they’ve found a way to fit into each other’s pregame routines without a hitch. Misha puts on a big pot of noodles and Braydon throws a chicken breast and some salmon into the oven to roast. They try to rotate through the green vegetables both of them like (broccoli and green beans and kale, _never _Brussels sprouts) but even then, Braydon sometimes has to bully Misha to eat a full portion.

“Did you not like the asparagus?”

Misha frowns, pushes the few stalks around his plate. “It was fine.”

“Eat it, then.”

“Or what?” Misha challenges.

“You can sleep in your own room when we go on the road.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You can make a bet, if you want.” He says it casual, watches for Misha’s reaction.

Misha wrinkles his nose and shovels the vegetables into his mouth. “I don’t make bets anymore.”

“At least you got a boyfriend out of the last one.”

Misha’s fork clatters against the plate. “Oh?”

“I shaved my beard for you, Misha. I’m letting you in. I, uh, I thought we might like the title.” He raises his voice like it’s a question, like he’s unsure. But he’s not. He’s completely certain this is what he wants. Who he wants.

“It’s nice.” He smiles into his lap. “I...yeah. I want that.”

“Then you have it.”

It seems right to just pull Misha’s chair over to his, the legs scraping on the patio, to press a soft kiss to his lips. He leans into it, tries to get closer to Braydon. He’s almost certain Misha would be in his lap by now if the table wasn’t in the way.

“Let’s take the Pontiac to the arena today,” Braydon says. “What’d’you think?”

“The _what_?”

Braydon leads him to the garage by the hand, makes him stand in the doorway as he uncovers the purpley-pink convertible.

“Oh my god, we are _definitely _going to fuck in that car.”

“You’re cute, but this is a classic,” he says. “We’re not fucking in this car.”

Misha just smiles and gets in the passenger seat. “Are you going to put the top down?”

Braydon does and Misha looks like he’s a little bit in heaven with the sun and the breeze combing through his hair. It’s extra fluffy when they get to the rink and Braydon so badly wants to run his fingers through it.

Later, he promises himself. There’s always later.

After the game Braydon drives them home in his ridiculous convertible and parks it in the garage. Before he can get out, though, Misha stops him. “I wasn’t joking, earlier.”

“About what?”

“Us and this car.”

“There is a perfectly good bed literally steps away.”

“Boring.”

Braydon raises his eyebrows.

“You heard me.”

“There’s no way we’d both fit in the backseat.” He might be considering the schematics of it, though, if he’s being honest.

“You could lay me out on the back,” Misha says. “This thing’s got a huge ass.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Misha leans over to wrap his hand in Braydon’s tie and tug. “So I’ve been told.”

Braydon kisses him, because he can’t be this close and not lean in. He tries to keep it chaste, close-lipped and soft. But Misha…

Misha has other ideas.

He presses his hand to Braydon’s thigh and squeezes, gets him to gasp in shock and arousal so he can deepen the kiss. He slips him some tongue and tries to push Braydon back into his seat, tries to rise up and climb over the gearshift.

“We’re way too big for this,” Braydon says as Misha insists on sitting on Braydon’s lap.

His ass honks the horn.

“I told you.”

Misha giggles and starts to do away with Braydon’s suit.

“Please don’t throw that,” he says, eyeing the balled up tie in his fist.

Misha tosses it on the passenger seat and goes back to working his shirt open. He pulls one wrist up to his face, presses a kiss to the thin skin on the inside of it, just over Braydon’s pulse, and undoes the button. He gives the same treatment to the other wrist and button and pushes the shirt down over Braydon’s shoulders.

He mouths at the new skin there, all covered in freckles. Tilts Braydon’s chin to the side so he has more space to work with. Braydon grips Misha’s hips and tries not to float away in the sensation.

“What do you think now?” Misha says into the curve of Braydon’s neck. “You still want to go all the way to the bedroom?”

“I will carry you.”

Misha grinds down onto Braydon’s lap like he’s some kind of fucking chippendale dancer. The roll of his hips is completely obscene, even in the cramped space. “I’d like to see you try.”

Goosebumps spread out along Braydon’s skin as all of his common sense rushes for his dick. “Get in the backseat,” he grits out. “Right now.”

Misha practically swan dives to the back, hitting the horn again.

“You’re trouble.”

“Most people just call me a brat,” he says, undoing his belt and the button of his pants. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Braydon angles the rearview mirror so he can see the way Misha’s spread out in the backseat with his pants undone. “Strip. Everything but your shirt, unbuttoned”

He watches all of Misha’s tan legs get revealed, his chest button by button. “These too?” Misha asks, hooking his thumbs in the dark briefs he’s still wearing.

“Those too.”

There’s a thrill that settles between them when Misha shimmies them off. He tosses them toward the front seat because he is, in fact, a brat. It’s about all Braydon can take.

He kicks his shoes off and leaves them in the footwell before turning around and getting his hands on Misha.

“Finally,” he says, making room for Braydon to settle in the back with him. He whines when Braydon wraps a hand around him, feels how turned on he is already. “Tell me what to do.”

“Up,” Braydon grunts, shoving at Misha until he gets his feet under him and settles on the edge of the shiny purple-pink paint. “Lay back. Let me take care of you.”

Misha does, propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch as Braydon wastes no time settling between his knees and sucking him down. He lets him rest there on his tongue as he pins his hips, flicks his eyes up to let Misha know he’s watching.

“Fuck,” Misha whines. “Look at you.”

He works him slow, torturously, until he pops out completely all shiny with spit.

Misha licks his lips, tries to arch his hips and get closer.

“This what you wanted?”

“Yes, fuck yes. Braydon…”

The way his name spills out of Misha’s mouth is heavenly. The breathy little gasps that fall out when he gets his dick back into the heat of his mouth are little cherries on top.

“N-next time,” Misha stutters. “Next time, we should just pull off on the side of the road. Cut the lights on some dark stretch of highwa--” He trails off when Braydon moans around him, when he digs his fingers into the meaty muscle of his thighs. “No one would see us. B-but what if they did? What if they saw how good you are to me.”

Braydon closes his eyes against the image, of having Misha so brazenly, so openly. It stokes a fire in him.

“You’re always so good to me. Give me everything I n-need. Oh, fuck, _Braydon_.”

He adores Misha like this, wanton and open and loud. Would give him anything he wanted if he got to hear him say his name like that every time. Like he can’t possibly say anything else in that moment.

“I want everyone to know,” Misha says, so close to being overwhelmed. “That I’m yours.”

_Say it, again_ he thinks as he draws Misha in as deep as he can, holds him there and swallows around him. _Say you’re mine._

“Oh, I’m gonna...I’m…” He tenses and spills into Braydon’s mouth, his name just a whisper of a breath on his lips as he falls flat against the car. Arms finally giving out.

Braydon swallows, because he’s a gentleman, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not coming all over my leather seats.” Oh jesus, his voice is wrecked. “So you better find your legs or you’re going to miss it.”

He leaves Misha there, spread out wantonly on the back of his sexy, expensive car, and heads for the bedroom. He’s honestly too fucking old for shit like this but he’d be a bold faced liar if he said it didn’t get him hot as all hell.

He strips efficiently, not for show, and spreads out over the cool covers of his bed. He wraps a hand around himself and thinks about the pretty picture Misha made with his dress shirt spread out around him, his hair and the way his cheeks flushed, the way the flush worked its way down his chest, the way his thighs flexed against Braydon’s hold--

“You think I’m going to let you do that yourself?” Misha asks from the doorway.

“Sometimes you take a while to recover.”

Misha sheds his shirt and climbs up onto the bed. “And whose fault is that?”

Braydon hums, lets Misha take over. By this point, he knows exactly how Braydon likes it, exactly what gets him off the fastest. “Uhg, just like that.”

Misha shuffles down, gets his mouth close enough Braydon can feel his breath against his sensitive skin. “Wanna taste,” he says before licking over the mess Braydon’s already made. “Want it, c’mon.”

He leaves his mouth open, tongue lolled out and Braydon’s release hits him like a train.

He’d feel a little guilty but Misha wipes his face clean with a bright smile and snuggles up to Braydon’s side looking sated and satisfied. “That went well.”

“You’re a brat.”

Misha laughs. “You love me anyway.”

**11\. Well, Maybe Not _All_**

It’s late some random Wednesday when Nikita finds himself at a Publix with his box of quarters. It’s fucking heavy and ridiculous. He can’t do anything with five-hundred dollars worth of quarters.

He couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning for well over an hour, so now he’s at a Publix, standing at a stupid Coinstar, shoving rolls and rolls and rolls of quarters into the machine at half-past midnight.

He’s probably learned his lesson on making bets with Misha.

Probably.

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all complaints or general wailing can be directed to our tumblrs (lecavayay and ilikeitpalat) 0:-)


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